


my skin has lavender tones, my lonely lavender bones

by spacejames



Series: pregame saimota AU [1]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Anxiety, Cigarettes, Codependency, Depression, Drama, Explicit Language, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Game Momota Kaito, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, idk what else to tell you this fic isn't very happy, it's not that bad, tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23574724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacejames/pseuds/spacejames
Summary: Kaito doesn’t have thetimeto get attached to someone right now, he really doesn’t. He’s too busy trying to cover his own ass, trying to stay alive. And heespeciallycan’t afford to get attached toShuichi,of all people.
Relationships: Momota Kaito/Saihara Shuichi
Series: pregame saimota AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1702630
Comments: 17
Kudos: 115





	my skin has lavender tones, my lonely lavender bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jimcloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimcloud/gifts).



> wow, look at me, starting yet another project. this fic is the result of a night in which Jimcloud and i shot ideas back and forth at each other on discord for over six hours straight. enjoy.
> 
> please note that these are not the typical pre-game personalities that you might see. these are my and jim’s own interpretations on the characters and their personalities prior to danganronpa. :-)
> 
> (title is from "lavender bones" by stand atlantic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: cigarettes, homophobia & internalized homophobia

The smell of cigarettes wafts through the air, and Kaito wrinkles his nose, watching the thin curl of smoke from the end of his friend Ichiro’s cigarette as it winds its way toward the overcast sky. “Those things are fucking disgusting,” he says, half-hearted—it’s nothing Ichiro hasn’t heard before. Kaito has said it a thousand times and he could say it a thousand more, it wouldn’t change a thing. 

Ichiro rolls his eyes, taking another drag. “Don’t be a pussy about it, Momota,” he says, just as lackluster as Kaito’s own voice sounds. 

“Just put it out, man,” Kaito says. “You’re gonna get us caught. Again.”

Sneering, Ichiro blows smoke into Kaito’s face, but he drops the cigarette anyway, grinds it out with his heel and leans back against the wall. They’re behind the school, in an area sheltered by a few scraggly trees, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. “Heard you got Saihara assigned as a partner for the big project,” he comments. “Talk about bad luck.”

Kaito pushes his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Can’t believe I got partnered up with the freak.” There’s the tiniest twinge in his gut as he speaks the words, something akin to guilt, but Kaito ignores it, because _freak_ has to be the best way to describe Shuichi Saihara. 

It’s not Kaito’s fault that Shuichi doesn’t have any friends. It’s not Kaito’s fault that Shuichi’s weird and quiet and refuses to make eye contact when he’s spoken to. The kid is like a robot, just going through the motions every day. Keeping his head down, face covered by his ever-present hat. There are plenty of rumors, some more far-fetched than others—for example, near the beginning of the year someone claimed Shuichi pulled a knife on them when they’d threatened him, and Kaito isn’t sure if he believes _that_ one—but whatever the story, the message is the same: Shuichi is an outsider. At least the aforementioned knife rumor keeps him from getting directly picked on by the bigger guys in their class. 

If nothing else, Kaito sort of admires him for that, though he’d never admit it. 

Ichiro chuckles and says something else, something crude and derogatory about Shuichi apparently being gay, and it’s all Kaito can do to tune _that_ one out. He says nothing in return, face blank and expressionless as he waits for Ichiro to finish laughing at his own stupid joke. 

“You done?” Kaito says flatly, when Ichiro’s snorting laughter has died down. “Come on, let’s go back inside. I have to meet up with Saihara to talk about the project before lunch is over.”

In actuality, he’s already arranged a meeting with the other boy—later that afternoon, once school lets out, Kaito will be waiting for Shuichi at a small corner café on nearly the opposite side of town. The café is a twenty-minute walk from their school, but Kaito prefers it that way; it’s far enough away that the chances of one of their classmates seeing them there together are slim to none. He may have to work on this project with Shuichi, but that doesn’t mean he’s quite ready to commit social suicide by being seen with him off-campus.

The rest of the day passes dully, with an agonizing sort of slowness that has Kaito unable to focus on a single word his teacher says. His gaze turns to the sky, glazing over as he stares out into the blanket of deep gray clouds, hiding the sun and carrying the promise of rain. At least he has his umbrella—this morning, he’d actually managed to remember to grab it on his way out the door when he saw the heavy, dark sky. 

Those few hours between lunch and the end of the school day seem to stretch away into eternity, but finally, the bell rings, and Kaito is saved. As he follows the mindless herd of students toward the main entrance to the school building, he glances out the window once more, and is greeted by the sight of the first few drops of rain splashing against the glass. 

Kaito keeps his head down as he joins the quiet procession of pedestrians, his slightly dented umbrella shielding him from the rain. It doesn’t take long for the light drizzle to turn into a steady downpour, but he’s a fast walker when he wants to be, and he makes it to the café before the worst of the storm hits. He shakes the water from his umbrella and closes it before stepping inside, letting out a soft sigh of relief as warm air washes over him. 

He chooses a table by one of the large windows so he can keep an eye out for Shuichi, resting his chin on his hand and scrolling idly through Tumblr as he waits. Two minutes turn into five, then seven; by ten, Kaito’s beginning to wonder if Shuichi is even going to show up at all.

Of course, it’s that thought that seems to summon him. The bell above the door gives a cheery little _ding,_ and Kaito looks up from his phone to see a drenched, skinny boy shivering in the doorway, his brow furrowed as he scans the café. When his gaze falls on Kaito, the anxiety on his face gives way, and he hurries over, sliding into the seat across from him. 

“H-hello, Momota,” Shuichi says, the words tentative.

Kaito just sort of grunts, giving Shuichi a once-over. “You’re fucking soaked,” he says in lieu of a greeting. “Do you not own an umbrella?”

Shuichi blinks at him, his eyes wide. “Ah, uhm, I do,” he says. His voice is… not what Kaito would’ve expected. It’s soft, but clear, even as Shuichi fidgets with his hands in his lap, seeming a bit uncomfortable under Kaito’s gaze. “I-I just didn’t realize it was going to rain today.”

“Right.” Further proof that this guy is a nutjob, Kaito thinks, but the thought is immediately followed by another twinge of guilt. Maybe he’d just been running late that morning, and in his hurry to get out the door, he’d forgotten to grab an umbrella. Kaito has certainly made the same mistake many times. “Well,” he says, and clears his throat. “Should we get started?”

“Ah, yes!” Shuichi straightens. “Um, do you have any ideas for a topic yet?”

Kaito shakes his head. “Nah, not yet,” he says. The project assignment is to analyze a piece of media, then compare its themes to… some other book they’d been supposed to read in class. Kaito’s a little ashamed to say he hasn’t read the book, so all he can do is hope Shuichi has, and that he’ll be able to come up with something good.

He’s disappointed when Shuichi presses his lips together, looking down at his hands in his lap. “Me neither,” he says, then looks back up, meeting Kaito’s eyes with that unnerving grey gaze. His eyes are framed by thick, dark lashes, long and feathery; Kaito’s not close enough to be able to tell, obviously, but he suspects Shuichi might be wearing mascara. “Um, I-I read the book we’re supposed to be comparing it to, but I figured maybe you…”

Frowning, Kaito waits for him to continue, but Shuichi has trailed off, staring with parted lips and wide eyes at something just over his shoulder. Kaito turns, following his gaze to the wall behind him, plastered with layers upon layers of posters, flyers, and other advertisements that have never been taken down. 

The poster that seems to have caught Shuichi’s eye looks new, hung slightly crooked, already starting to curl at the edges. It depicts a green-haired boy on a dark background splattered with garish pink. Underneath him is a logo, advertising the 52nd season of Danganronpa with the words “COMING SOON” underneath it. 

When Kaito looks back at Shuichi, there’s a strange, fervent glint in his eyes. He clasps his hands together, and Kaito can see for the first time that Shuichi’s nails are painted black, the polish chipping off in some places like he hasn’t had the chance to fix them. 

Kaito opens his mouth to ask a question, but before he can, Shuichi blurts out, “Ah, s-sorry, Momota, I know I was staring, but that’s the first season 52 flyer I've seen with one of the participants on it! In real life, anyways, we’ve known about Rantaro Amami for a while—there are posters and headshots of all the participants online already. Leaks say he’s going to be the Ultimate Adventurer, and people won’t stop theorizing about whether or not he’s going to be the protagonist. Sure, he’s front and center in most of the promo material, but that doesn't _mean_ anything, it’d be unusual if he was with that talent, and does that even qualify as a proper ahoge—ah!" He halts rather abruptly and bites his lip, like he’s trying to stop himself from continuing. 

It’s—sort of jarring, actually, because the tone of Shuichi’s voice is _nothing_ like it was earlier; where before he’d been calm and collected, if a bit anxious, there’s now an ecstatic little warble, his voice gone breathy and high-pitched with excitement. Kaito stares at him, his curiosity piqued. He’s seen a few episodes, sure, everyone has, but he’s never met anyone who seemed quite so passionate about it before. 

Scratch that, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone have such a drastic reaction to _anything_ before. Shuichi looks like a completely different person. 

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Kaito says. “Man, if you’re that excited about it, why don’t we make our project about this?”

If possible, Shuichi’s eyes get even rounder. “Wh—wait, really? _Really?”_

Kaito shrugs. “Yeah. If you can put that kind of energy into it, there’s no way we won’t pass.”

Shuichi _squeaks,_ there’s no better word for it, and bounces a little bit in his seat. He’s practically vibrating. Kaito wonders if he should be concerned, but honestly, it’s kind of endearing. “A-are you sure, Momota? I mean, do you even know anything about Danganronpa? It’s not a problem if you don’t, I can help you! I-I don’t want to take over the whole project, and most people would probably find it dumb…” 

“Do I look like I give a fuck about what other people find dumb?” Kaito says, although now that he’s thinking about it, he kind of does give a lot of fucks about what other people think. But Shuichi looks so damn _hopeful,_ and who would Kaito be to crush that hope? “C’mon, tell me more about it.”

Shuichi takes a quick, sharp breath, trying to compose himself a little. “Okay, okay,” he says, shifting in his seat. “Oh, wow. Ah, what season should we focus on? There are so many to choose from…” 

There’s a childlike joy in his eyes when he begins to ramble, tripping over a few words in his breathless rush to tell Kaito _everything,_ which forces Kaito to wonder whether anyone has ever actually taken the time to sit down with Shuichi and ask him about the things he’s interested in. He suspects the answer is no, and that makes something deep in his chest clench sympathetically, something small and neglected that can resonate with that feeling. 

Nearly two hours pass like that, and for the first time in longer than Kaito can remember, the time flies instead of dragging on sluggishly. It’s mostly filled with Shuichi’s voice, rising and falling as he pours out information like some kind of Danganronpa knowledge fountain. Kaito takes a few notes for the sake of their project, but mostly he just listens, surprised by how easy it feels to get caught up in Shuichi’s world. His sheer passion is compelling, a light shining out of him that had always been covered before, and Kaito finds it hard to tear his eyes away from that glow. 

The rain hasn’t stopped or even slowed by the time they wrap things up, and Kaito glances at Shuichi, taking stock of his appearance again. The tips of his hair are still damp, curling up at the ends where they’d been unprotected by his hat, and his clothes share the same fate. 

“Hey, how far do you live from here?” Kaito says suddenly. 

Shuichi looks up at him, pausing where he’d been packing his things back into his backpack. “Ah, it’s not a terribly long walk,” he says, a questioning lilt in his tone. He tips his head. “Why?”

With a sigh, Kaito picks up his umbrella and holds it out to Shuichi. “Here. Take this,” he says. 

Eyes wide, Shuichi looks from him to the umbrella. “I can’t take your umbrella. You’ll get soaked, Momota.”

Kaito has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Just take it, dude. You’re more likely to get sick than I am. You’ve already been sitting in those wet clothes for the past few hours.” 

Slowly, Shuichi blinks up at him. “Are you worried about me?” 

The simple question shouldn’t fluster Kaito as much as it does. “Nah,” he says, not meeting Shuichi’s gaze. “Just don’t want you catching a cold and missing the project. I’m sure as hell not doing all this by myself, got it?”

A faint smile hovers on Shuichi’s face, his lips curling upward at the edges. “Thank you, Momota,” he says, taking the umbrella. “I promise, I-I’ll return this to you tomorrow at school, okay?”

“Sure.” Kaito waves a dismissive hand at Shuichi. “Now get out of here.”

Shuichi’s still smiling when he leaves, seemingly unbothered by Kaito’s distant tone. That smile lingers in the back of Kaito’s mind for the rest of the night, nagging at him, and he justifies it by telling himself that he’s only thinking about Shuichi so much because of how weird the other boy is. Lying in bed that night, listening to the rain drum steadily on his roof, Kaito finds it’s easier than it should be to convince himself that spending time with Shuichi for this project isn’t a bad thing, and that once it’s over with, they can go their separate ways. 

Really, it can’t hurt to indulge Shuichi, right?

* * *

Kaito finds that his reservations about being seen with Shuichi are stripped away with astonishing quickness. It’s worth whatever humiliation he might face from his friends when he sits down at Shuichi’s otherwise empty table and watches the surprise on his features turn quickly into delight. Shuichi’s Danganronpa expertise is proving incredibly useful for the project, and each time Kaito is mesmerized by his ardor. 

It’s a good thing that Kaito is skilled at lying to himself, because the moment he starts to realize that he may be getting attached to Shuichi, he slaps a lid on that particular box and shoves it to the back of his mind. 

Compartmentalizing. That’s all it is. 

Because Kaito doesn’t have the _time_ to get attached to someone right now, he really doesn’t. He’s too busy trying to cover his own ass, trying to stay alive. And he _especially_ can’t afford to get attached to _Shuichi,_ of all people.

Still, he doesn’t think it’s a problem. Not much of one, anyway. He’s actually doing a decent job of ignoring the parts that he doesn’t want to think about—he only talks to Shuichi when he sits with him at lunch or when they meet up after school, and he does his damndest to keep his mind off the boy whenever they’re not together.

(Never mind the fact that, after barely a week, he’s blowing off his friends to sit with Shuichi at lunch every day. Never mind the fact that Shuichi occupies his mind for the better part of the day anyway. Never mind the fact that, if he’s actually being honest with himself for once, Shuichi is quickly becoming the only thing in his life that actually interests him.

Because he’s not thinking about any of that.)

One day, Kaito sits down at the table across from Shuichi and sees that there are two bento boxes in front of him, instead of the usual one. “What’s up with that?” he asks, nodding at the extra box.

“Oh, uh…” Shuichi fidgets, purposefully avoiding his gaze—and Kaito can tell the difference, because Shuichi is just generally bad at maintaining eye contact, but it’s different when he’s avoiding it. “Well, I-I noticed that you don’t ever really eat lunch, Momota, s-so I… I made you this.” 

He blurts out the last part and pushes the box toward Kaito, too fast, like he’s afraid Kaito will say no. To his credit, the word is on the tip of Kaito’s tongue before he checks himself, opting to stay silent and open the box. 

It looks… surprisingly good, actually. Rice balls, pickled vegetables, and fish, all neatly arranged. Shuichi clearly spent time on this. The back of his neck feels hot; he’s pretty sure no one has ever done anything like this for him before.

“Wow,” Kaito says, stupidly. “Um, thanks.” 

“If—if you don’t want it, you don’t have to eat it,” Shuichi says quickly.

“No, no, it’s not that,” Kaito says, rubbing the back of his neck to try to get rid of that prickly, almost embarrassed feeling. “This is. Really nice of you.”

There’s a pause, in which Shuichi blinks at him with round eyes. “Ah, r-really? Y-you don’t think it’s dumb?”

Belatedly, Kaito realizes that Shuichi hadn’t been worried about him saying no, he’d been worried Kaito would _laugh_ at him. That feels shitty, but he doesn’t know what to do about it, so he just mumbles, “Nah,” and starts eating. It tastes every bit as good as it looks—Kaito isn’t sure when the last time he ate something this good was. He usually survives off of leftover takeout and, whenever his mom feels like actually cooking, slightly subpar noodles.

“Um, h-how is it?” Shuichi is watching him anxiously, biting at one of his black-varnished nails.

“S’good,” Kaito says around a mouthful of rice. He swallows, feeling awkward. “So, about the project…”

The way Shuichi lights up when he’s at school is different from the way he does it off campus. It’s more muted, more subdued, whenever they’re surrounded by their peers. Kaito’s never really seen him “on” at school, not the way he gets when they’re at the café—and even then, Kaito suspects that he’s never truly seen Shuichi at full force. If they were alone, maybe then Shuichi would be more relaxed, but _that’s_ never going to happen.

But all in all, Kaito’s doing fairly well. This thing with Shuichi (it’s not a _thing,_ it’s just a—a temporary partnership, a business arrangement, a _transaction,_ they’ll be done with this project in a few weeks and then they never have to speak to each other again) isn’t a problem. Not a problem at all.

Until it becomes one.

Ichiro’s smoking again, and Kaito doesn’t have the energy to tell him off. They’re skipping class, along with Tarou and Daichi, and he’s spacing out while the others laugh around him, probably making more stupid gay jokes. Seriously, sometimes Kaito thinks that’s the only thing they know how to make jokes about. It’s not like it bothers him or anything, because he’s definitely not gay. It just gets annoying, hearing the same fucking joke over and over again.

“Hey, Momota,” Ichiro says, and he’s snickering, an ugly sound that grates on Kaito’s ears. “How’s the _project_ going?”

Kaito sighs. “It’s going fine.”

“Oh, yeah,” Daichi chimes in. “You’re partnered up with Saihara, aren’t you? You must be goin’ crazy, having to work with that fuckin’ freak. I’d have punched him in the face by now.”

There it is again. That word. _Freak._ Kaito used it himself to describe Shuichi, hardly more than a week ago, but now it chafes at him, making him feel guilty and uncomfortable. He shrugs, knowing they’re trying to rope him into talking shit, but he’s not in the mood. “It’s whatever, man.”

“He tried to cut you yet?” Tarou laughs, and the other two join in. It’s loud and raucous, and the sound combined with the heavy scent of cigarettes in the air is making Kaito feel sick to his stomach. 

“That’s not funny,” he mutters under his breath, and the laughter stops.

For a moment, Kaito actually believes that they’re going to let it slide. Then Tarou steps closer to him, tilting his head a little to catch Kaito’s gaze, and he knows he’s fucked.

“What’d you say?” 

“I said, that’s not funny,” Kaito repeats, lifting his head. “It’s a stupid rumor. There’s no way he actually carries a fucking knife at school.”

Tarou’s lip curls. “What the hell does it matter to you?” Behind him, Ichiro and Daichi are staring, neither of them making a move to intervene. “You tryin’ to defend him? Huh? You guys are _friends_ now?”

The smart thing to do here, Kaito thinks, would be to concede. He really should back down, not make any more smartass comments and let Tarou have this one. 

So, naturally, he does the exact opposite of that.

“I dunno what the hell you’re talking about,” he snaps. “But it sounds like _you_ don’t, either. So why don’t you just keep your damn mouth shut?”

Tarou gives him a long look, his smirk curdling into a sneer as he steps closer, getting dangerously close to being up in Kaito’s face. “You wanna make me?” he asks, quiet, mocking. “Or are you gonna go run off with your little freak boyfriend?”

Blood roars in Kaito’s ears, his heart dropping to his stomach at the word. Before he realizes it, his hand is wrapped in the front of Tarou’s shirt, yanking him closer as Kaito raises his fist. “You wanna fucking say that again?” he snarls, the tips of his ears burning.

 _“Hey,”_ Daichi interjects, stepping in at last. He places a hand on Kaito’s shoulder, pulling him away from Tarou. “Cool it, dumbasses.”

The adrenaline pumps through Kaito’s veins, sharpening into red-hot anger in the center of his chest. He shoves Daichi’s hand off his shoulder and storms off, pulse beating hard in his throat, the sound of his heart thumping in his ears. Someone calls out after him, probably Ichiro, but he ignores it. 

Kaito’s rage simmers, dark like storm clouds gathering, brewing in a hollow space behind his sternum as he lurks around the trees near the front of the school. He half-wishes Daichi had let him punch Tarou—he’s not usually the type, but he’s in the mood for a fight. The accusation Tarou had thrown at him leaves him with a hot, itchy feeling, discomfort and disgust making his skin crawl. 

Shuichi’s _not_ his boyfriend. Because Kaito isn’t gay. 

And he doesn’t have a _problem_ with gay people, not really, but—being called gay still makes Kaito feel like he wants to throw up. Because he’s _not._ Especially not for Shuichi. Maybe Shuichi’s gay, and that’s fine, Kaito couldn’t give less of a fuck whether or not Shuichi likes dudes, but Kaito is straight. Obviously. 

He’s too agitated to go back to class, but the idea of going home and having to be around his family makes him feel even worse. With four kids and both his parents living in one house, it’s chaotic at best; at worst, the noise makes Kaito feel like he’s going insane. He’s never gotten along with his two older brothers, and his little sister is so spoiled by their parents—who had been _ecstatic_ to finally have a daughter—that she looks down on the rest of them. And his parents are no better, always harassing him because he’s the weakest, the dumbest of his brothers, even though he gets pretty good grades and works out. He’s no match for the star athlete, the math whiz, or the little princess. Kaito’s daily goal is to make it to bed without having to interact with his family more than twice, and he considers it a good day if he only gets slammed with insults and criticism for a few minutes. 

So he just waits, because he’s supposed to meet with Shuichi after school anyway, and as much as he’d like to blow it off, he can’t bring himself to. It’s a recipe for disaster, he knows, but maybe he can get through an hour or so without letting his anger boil over, and that’ll be enough. Maybe Shuichi won’t notice his shitty mood, and he can bottle it up until he gets a chance to be alone and let it out.

Kaito knows he isn’t fooling anyone. But he is good at lying to himself.

When the front doors open, Kaito spots Shuichi right away among the crowd of students spilling out into the courtyard. Shuichi’s head is down, the brim of his hat shadowing his face as he tries to blend in with the masses, so Kaito slips out of the trees and merges with the others, heading for the other boy.

He shoulders his way through the crowd, finally falling into step beside Shuichi near the front gate, where the group of students begins to thin out. “Yo,” he says, and when Shuichi doesn’t look up, he adds, a touch more irritable than he means to, “Saihara.”

Shuichi’s head jerks up, a guarded look on his face, but his eyes widen when he recognizes Kaito. “Ah, Momota, y-you startled me.”

Feeling twitchy and restless, Kaito glances over his shoulder, but nobody seems to be looking their way. “C’mon,” he says, jerking his head as a gesture for Shuichi to follow him. “Let’s get going already.”

Kaito means to lead them to the café, but his thoughts are whirling around in his head, and his fingertips are buzzing with static, and he just keeps getting angrier and angrier at everything in the world. Before long, they’re walking down a side street that he’s pretty sure isn’t anywhere near the café, but he’s too fucking ashamed to admit that he got them lost, so he just keeps walking, teeth gritted, hands curling into fists at his sides. He doesn’t even realize that Shuichi is falling behind, unable to keep up with Kaito’s long-legged strides, until he hears a soft, “Ah, um, M-Momota? C-can you slow down a bit?”

Stopping short, Kaito turns to look at Shuichi with a stony gaze, saying nothing. Shuichi’s pale cheeks are flushed slightly pink—had it really taken that much exertion just to keep up with Kaito? The faint prick of guilt is lost in the rising tide of his anger.

“I’m sorry.” The flush on Shuichi’s face is quickly fading, replaced by his usual pallor. He seems a little hesitant, like he can sense the rage festering just below the surface of Kaito’s skin. “Um… do you—I mean, are we g-going the right way?”

Kaito’s anger bubbles up and boils over, and just like that, he explodes. “No, we’re not! You don’t have to fucking point it out, Saihara! Jesus, I can’t even believe I’m still fucking _talking_ to you. But it’s not like I have anyone else. Fucking—” He pauses, takes a deep breath and blows it out angrily. Shuichi looks a little shell-shocked, and Kaito hurries to add, “Shit—look, that came out wrong, okay? I’m not mad at you, I just—fuckin’ Tarou and his stupid-ass friends were calling you a freak and making fun of you, and I’m just getting _tired_ of their _shit!_ I swear, I almost punched him, he was _pissing me off_ so much. I don’t even know _why_ I still hang out with them, they’re such _douchebags_ and they’re always talking _so much shit_ about everyone, but I don’t fucking— _God!”_ He growls through clenched teeth, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “God, this is so fucking _stupid!”_

He’s aware that he’s shouting, and shame starts to rise in his chest, because Shuichi doesn’t deserve this, being yelled at when he hasn’t done anything wrong. But when he finally looks back up at the other boy, his expression is placid, almost serene. If it weren’t for the attentive look in his eyes, Kaito would think that Shuichi is completely spaced out.

“Uh,” Kaito says, wondering if he should continue, but his anger is fading, giving way to guilt. “Saihara?”

“Yes?” Shuichi blinks, that weird, calm look still on his face. 

“Um… did that not freak you out?”

Shuichi gives a little shrug. “Not really,” he says. “Are you done?”

Now Kaito just feels awkward. “I guess,” he says. 

“Cool.” Shuichi sits down on the curb, and tentatively, Kaito joins him. 

A leaf skitters by on the breeze, tumbling over itself along the rough sidewalk. Kaito feels… numb, sort of. His head is a little fuzzy, his chest hollow and empty instead of brimming with fury, but it’s not as bad as before. He doesn’t feel quite as wrong as he did before, no longer too big for his own skin. 

“You didn’t actually punch him, did you?” Shuichi asks suddenly.

Kaito shakes his head. “Nah. Daichi pulled us apart. ‘Sides, it probably wasn’t worth it.”

“Good,” Shuichi says, and there’s a touch of warmth in his grey eyes, even though his expression is perfectly neutral. “Ah, to be clear, it’s not because I care about their well-being, or anything. I just think it would be unfortunate if you got in trouble for it.”

A startled laugh escapes Kaito, and Shuichi smiles, looking quietly pleased. “Fucking Christ,” Kaito mutters, trying to tamp down a grin as relief washes through him. It’s a little fucked up, but it makes him feel better, in a weird, vindictive sort of way. No one has ever just listened to him rant before, not without getting upset or freaked out.

They fall silent, watching the leaves dance along the pavement near their feet, but it’s a comfortable silence. Something is still nagging at Kaito’s conscience, though, and after a moment, he speaks up again. “There’s something else.”

“What is it?” Shuichi glances up at him, his ridiculously long eyelashes casting a faint shadow on the pale lilac circles under his eyes. Not like Kaito notices, or anything.

He looks away, disconcerted. “I, um,” he starts, clearing his throat, ashamed at the words he’s about to say. “I used to do that shit, too. Making fun of you behind your back. Calling you a freak and shit.” His eyes dart back over to Shuichi, trying to gauge his reaction.

Shuichi tilts his head. “Do you still think that?” he asks. “That I’m a freak?”

“No, but—”

“Then it doesn’t matter.” Shuichi picks at his nail, and another chip of black polish flakes off. “I used to think Danganronpa 27 was the worst season, but then I saw this argument that pointed out themes that I hadn’t noticed before, and now it’s only my sixth least favorite season.”

Kaito stares at him, bewildered. “How are those comparable?”

“How are they not?” Shuichi shrugs again, still picking at his nail polish. 

He’s clearly not going to say anything else about that subject, so Kaito lets it go. Shuichi is pretty weird, but not in a bad way, he thinks. “You don’t seem very surprised.”

“Hm? Ah, it’s nothing new. I’m used to people saying bad things about me.” His tone is mild, nonchalant, as he watches the tiny black flakes from his nail polish drift toward the ground.

With a snort, Kaito says, “Yeah, like that bullshit about you pulling a knife on someone. Where did that rumor come from, anyway?”

Shuichi looks up. “That’s not a rumor,” he says. 

For a second, Kaito doesn’t process his words. “Wait, what?” he demands, turning to face Shuichi. “You actually pulled a _knife_ out at school?”

To his growing astonishment, Shuichi reaches into the front pocket of his pants and pulls out a weathered little pocket knife, twirling it between his fingers. “I don’t actually know how to use it,” he confesses. “But it deters bullies.”

Kaito covers his mouth with a hand. “Holy shit,” he says, watching as Shuichi, who looks completely unruffled, puts the knife away again. “That’s fucking crazy, dude.” He can’t help laughing a little, shaking his head in disbelief. Shuichi just hums in lieu of a response. 

Silence falls between them again, and Kaito sighs, feeling drained as the effects of his anger and adrenaline wear off. “Not gonna lie, I _really_ don’t feel like working on the project today,” he says at length, rubbing his temples. 

“That’s fair,” Shuichi says, and now he looks hesitant again, biting his lip nervously. “Uh… do you want to come over and watch anime with me?”

It’s a simple request, but it carries enough weight that Kaito has to pause and think. A week ago, he would’ve immediately refused, but at this point, he’s already dug his own grave, socially speaking. He might as well lie in it. And if he’s honest with himself, he _does_ want to go over to Shuichi’s house and watch anime with him, more than he thought he would. It certainly sounds better than any of the alternatives.

“Yeah, okay,” Kaito says, and stands up. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> you can reach me on tumblr at [space-james](https://space-james.tumblr.com/)! i’m also running this year’s saimota week in may, so check out the prompt list over at [saimotaweek](https://saimotaweek.tumblr.com/) on tumblr or @saimotaweek2020 on twitter!


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